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翻译原文链接：http://community.livejournal.com/ice_slash/214987.html
标题：Funny Business (这个中翻比较雷。。。囧——“不规矩”)
配对：Johnny/Stephane
注：情节设定在大概两年前，当Stephane刚搬到新泽西和，和Johnny接受相同教练训练的时候。（相关文章网址：http://www.ifsmagazine.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=577） 除此之外，所有情节纯属虚构。我正在努力码字。欢迎评论。
标题：Funny Business (这个中翻比较雷。。。囧——“不规矩”)
配对：Johnny/Stephane
注：情节设定在大概两年前，当Stephane刚搬到新泽西和，和Johnny接受相同教练训练的时候。（相关文章网址：http://www.ifsmagazine.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=577） 除此之外，所有情节纯属虚构。我正在努力码字。欢迎评论。
第一章
【作者语：我知道这发生在大概两年前，但是，呃，我很确定对Stephane的描述是完全错误的。我以后会尽可能完善，但是现在就先这样吧。。。】
电话响个不停。可怜的Johnny头痛欲裂，也许是昨晚的party上喝了太多了吧。短信，电话，短信，可是这些和他根本没有关系，他们全都是关于
Stephane Lambiel的——Stephane Lambiel这样，Stephane Lambiel那样，为什么每个人都打电话给他说Lambiel的事情？Johnny真是不知道要发生什
么事。显然，他要搬到这里，和他公用教练？什么？？？Johnny Weir在这么早的清晨没法想这些。
门铃响了。Johnny看向床头的钟，那巨大，鲜红，愤怒的四个数字0730正闪烁着。（我得买个新闹钟了，Johnny想，那天在商场看到的金黄星星的那个
不错…）门铃又响了一次。Johnny叹了口气，揉了揉惺忪的双眼。他套上一双超大的毛毛拖鞋，拖着脚走到门口，把门打开。
他的视线落在站在门口的男人身上。深棕色的头发，长长的睫毛，纤细的腰。Johnny眨了眨眼。是Lambiel。
该死。
Stephane很紧张。新冰场。新教练。新国家。新语言（嗯，好吧，语言不新，他会英语，但是他的英语没那么熟练，而且他一紧张讲话就特别快）。他来
回踱着脚，拎着的包都要把手勒断了。很痛。Stephane本来应该住在Galina那里，但是Stephane到了之后发现那里没人，而Galina又给过他Johnny Weir
的地址。Stephane用手理了理头发，把刘海拨开露出眼睛，敲门，然后发现他来找的男人还穿着睡衣。
“嗯，真是个惊喜。”美国人说，对着他上下瞄来瞄去。
Stephane脸红了。他说出早已准备好的话。“你好。”他说，“呃，Galina给了我你的地址以防她那里没有人在。然后，她那里没人。你知道我要来吗？
我——”
“不，”Johnny Weir更直截了当地答道，“等一下。”这个美国人消失在门里面，再回来的时候脸上带着笑，身上缠满了金片。“我正在寻找做新滑冰
服的材料。你觉得这个怎么样？”
Stephane看着他旋转，金片飞舞起来像一团闪烁的飓风。看起来糟透了。“看起来棒极了！”
Johnny叹了口气，停止了旋转。“你真不擅长说谎，Stephane Lambiel！再说了，你懂什么？你只会找一家派对商店，然后把所有能让你看起来像一个
17世纪王子的东西拽出来！”
门在Stephane的面前倏地被摔上。
“棒极了。”Stephane喃喃道，捡起他刚扔到脚边的包。现在他要去哪里？他疲惫极了，他才到——
“开个玩笑，哈，”Johnny又一次打开了门，“进来吧！然后请你向我解释一下为什么那些人全都给我打电话说你！！已经很久没有人和我一起吃早餐了
。你肯定累了。你想喝茶么？还是咖啡？我刚煮好了一壶高级咖啡，所以现在很high，十分钟前我还像个死人似的呢。死人！但是如果你喜欢的话我也可以
给你泡茶！瑞士人和茶还是咖啡？还是……像热巧克力之类的？我在做煎饼！”
“额……咖啡很好，谢谢。嗯，我是说，现在，我想喝咖啡。越浓越好，如果你方便的话。”Stephane想，尽管Johnny现在明显的过度兴奋，那个咖啡也
很可能不够浓。（莫非他平时也是那个样子？希望不是。）他真的只希望敲门，说你好，走进来，倒在沙发上睡个一天或是两天。也许三天。Stephane大声
地打了个哈欠，一进这个美国人的公寓，他就把包扔到地上了。
Johnny Weir回头瞥了眼Stephane，笑着摇了摇头。Stephane发现他更加友好了。
【作者语：哈哈，这篇挺短的。我会继续写的……其实我已经写了一些了。】
【作者语：我知道这发生在大概两年前，但是，呃，我很确定对Stephane的描述是完全错误的。我以后会尽可能完善，但是现在就先这样吧。。。】
电话响个不停。可怜的Johnny头痛欲裂，也许是昨晚的party上喝了太多了吧。短信，电话，短信，可是这些和他根本没有关系，他们全都是关于
Stephane Lambiel的——Stephane Lambiel这样，Stephane Lambiel那样，为什么每个人都打电话给他说Lambiel的事情？Johnny真是不知道要发生什
么事。显然，他要搬到这里，和他公用教练？什么？？？Johnny Weir在这么早的清晨没法想这些。
门铃响了。Johnny看向床头的钟，那巨大，鲜红，愤怒的四个数字0730正闪烁着。（我得买个新闹钟了，Johnny想，那天在商场看到的金黄星星的那个
不错…）门铃又响了一次。Johnny叹了口气，揉了揉惺忪的双眼。他套上一双超大的毛毛拖鞋，拖着脚走到门口，把门打开。
他的视线落在站在门口的男人身上。深棕色的头发，长长的睫毛，纤细的腰。Johnny眨了眨眼。是Lambiel。
该死。
Stephane很紧张。新冰场。新教练。新国家。新语言（嗯，好吧，语言不新，他会英语，但是他的英语没那么熟练，而且他一紧张讲话就特别快）。他来
回踱着脚，拎着的包都要把手勒断了。很痛。Stephane本来应该住在Galina那里，但是Stephane到了之后发现那里没人，而Galina又给过他Johnny Weir
的地址。Stephane用手理了理头发，把刘海拨开露出眼睛，敲门，然后发现他来找的男人还穿着睡衣。
“嗯，真是个惊喜。”美国人说，对着他上下瞄来瞄去。
Stephane脸红了。他说出早已准备好的话。“你好。”他说，“呃，Galina给了我你的地址以防她那里没有人在。然后，她那里没人。你知道我要来吗？
我——”
“不，”Johnny Weir更直截了当地答道，“等一下。”这个美国人消失在门里面，再回来的时候脸上带着笑，身上缠满了金片。“我正在寻找做新滑冰
服的材料。你觉得这个怎么样？”
Stephane看着他旋转，金片飞舞起来像一团闪烁的飓风。看起来糟透了。“看起来棒极了！”
Johnny叹了口气，停止了旋转。“你真不擅长说谎，Stephane Lambiel！再说了，你懂什么？你只会找一家派对商店，然后把所有能让你看起来像一个
17世纪王子的东西拽出来！”
门在Stephane的面前倏地被摔上。
“棒极了。”Stephane喃喃道，捡起他刚扔到脚边的包。现在他要去哪里？他疲惫极了，他才到——
“开个玩笑，哈，”Johnny又一次打开了门，“进来吧！然后请你向我解释一下为什么那些人全都给我打电话说你！！已经很久没有人和我一起吃早餐了
。你肯定累了。你想喝茶么？还是咖啡？我刚煮好了一壶高级咖啡，所以现在很high，十分钟前我还像个死人似的呢。死人！但是如果你喜欢的话我也可以
给你泡茶！瑞士人和茶还是咖啡？还是……像热巧克力之类的？我在做煎饼！”
“额……咖啡很好，谢谢。嗯，我是说，现在，我想喝咖啡。越浓越好，如果你方便的话。”Stephane想，尽管Johnny现在明显的过度兴奋，那个咖啡也
很可能不够浓。（莫非他平时也是那个样子？希望不是。）他真的只希望敲门，说你好，走进来，倒在沙发上睡个一天或是两天。也许三天。Stephane大声
地打了个哈欠，一进这个美国人的公寓，他就把包扔到地上了。
Johnny Weir回头瞥了眼Stephane，笑着摇了摇头。Stephane发现他更加友好了。
【作者语：哈哈，这篇挺短的。我会继续写的……其实我已经写了一些了。】
原文：
The phone rang incessantly and poor Johnny Weir’s head hurt. Perhaps he had a bit too much alcohol at the party last night. Texts and calls and texts and they weren’t even about him, they were about Stephane Lambiel - Stephane Lambiel this, Stephane Lambiel that, why was everyone ringing him about Lambiel? Johnny simply did not understand what was going on. Apparently he was moving here and sharing his coach? What??? Johnny Weir could NOT think this early in the morning.
The doorbell rang. Johnny looked at the clock by his bed, where 0730 flashed back at him in big, red, angry numbers. (He had to get a new clock, Johnny thought, perhaps those big yellow star ones he saw at the mall the other day…) The doorbell rang again and Johnny sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shuffled to the door in oversized fluffy slippers and pulled the door wide.
His eyes fell on the guy standing at the door, fell on the tusseled dark hair, those sweeping eyelashes, the slim waist. Johnny had to blink. It was Lambiel.
Shit.
Stephane was nervous. New ice rink. New coach. New country. New language (Well, okay, not new language, he knew English, but he was never fully comfortable with it, and spoke too quickly when he was nervous.) He switched his weight from foot to foot and his bags cut into his hands. It hurt. Galina had given him Johnny Weir’s address and Stephane had turned up there when he found nobody home at Galina’s place, where he was supposed to be staying. Stephane swept a hand over his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and knocked on the door. He found the man he was looking for still in his pyjamas.
“Well this is a surprise,” the American said, glancing up and down.
Stephane flushed and the conversation he prepared had flown out the window. “Hello,” he said, “Um, Galina gave me your address in case nobody was home at their place, and…nobody is home at their place. Did you know I was coming? I-”
“No,” Johnny Weir replied, rather flatly. “Hang on a second.” The American disappeared inside the apartment, returning draped in sequins and a grin on his face.
"I’ve been trying on new stuff to make new costumes with. What do you think of this?"
Stephane watched as he twirled, sequins flying like a sparkling cyclone. It looked horrible. "It looks great!"
Johnny let out a sigh and stopped spinning. "You suck at lying, Stephane Lambiel! Anyway, what would you know? All you do is walk into a party store and pull out anything that makes you look like a 17th century prince."
He shut the door in Stephane's face.
"Well that’s just fantastic," muttered Stephane, reaching to grab the bags he had dropped at his feet. Now where was he going to go? He was exhausted, he just arrived-
"Joking, hun," Johnny had opened the door again. "Come in!! And please explain to me why all these people are calling me about you!! It’s been so long since I had anyone over for breakfast. You must be tired. Did you want any tea? Coffee? I just made the best pot of coffee. I’m probably high on it right now. I was dead ten minutes ago. DEAD. But I can make you tea if that’s what you like! Do Swiss people drink tea or coffee? Or like…hot chocolate? I’m making pancakes!"
"Uh…coffee is great, thanks. Well I mean, at the moment I want coffee. As strong as possible, if you please." Stephane thought even then it would not be strong enough, despite Johnny's obvious hyperactiveness. (Unless he was simply like that all the time? Stephane hoped not.) He had really just expected to knock and say hello and walk in, ask for a sofa and sleep for a day or two. Maybe three. Stephane yawned loudly, dropping his bags back onto the floor once inside the American’s apartment.
Johnny Weir glanced back at Stephane and shook his head, grinning. Stephane found it rather disarming.
The phone rang incessantly and poor Johnny Weir’s head hurt. Perhaps he had a bit too much alcohol at the party last night. Texts and calls and texts and they weren’t even about him, they were about Stephane Lambiel - Stephane Lambiel this, Stephane Lambiel that, why was everyone ringing him about Lambiel? Johnny simply did not understand what was going on. Apparently he was moving here and sharing his coach? What??? Johnny Weir could NOT think this early in the morning.
The doorbell rang. Johnny looked at the clock by his bed, where 0730 flashed back at him in big, red, angry numbers. (He had to get a new clock, Johnny thought, perhaps those big yellow star ones he saw at the mall the other day…) The doorbell rang again and Johnny sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He shuffled to the door in oversized fluffy slippers and pulled the door wide.
His eyes fell on the guy standing at the door, fell on the tusseled dark hair, those sweeping eyelashes, the slim waist. Johnny had to blink. It was Lambiel.
Shit.
Stephane was nervous. New ice rink. New coach. New country. New language (Well, okay, not new language, he knew English, but he was never fully comfortable with it, and spoke too quickly when he was nervous.) He switched his weight from foot to foot and his bags cut into his hands. It hurt. Galina had given him Johnny Weir’s address and Stephane had turned up there when he found nobody home at Galina’s place, where he was supposed to be staying. Stephane swept a hand over his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and knocked on the door. He found the man he was looking for still in his pyjamas.
“Well this is a surprise,” the American said, glancing up and down.
Stephane flushed and the conversation he prepared had flown out the window. “Hello,” he said, “Um, Galina gave me your address in case nobody was home at their place, and…nobody is home at their place. Did you know I was coming? I-”
“No,” Johnny Weir replied, rather flatly. “Hang on a second.” The American disappeared inside the apartment, returning draped in sequins and a grin on his face.
"I’ve been trying on new stuff to make new costumes with. What do you think of this?"
Stephane watched as he twirled, sequins flying like a sparkling cyclone. It looked horrible. "It looks great!"
Johnny let out a sigh and stopped spinning. "You suck at lying, Stephane Lambiel! Anyway, what would you know? All you do is walk into a party store and pull out anything that makes you look like a 17th century prince."
He shut the door in Stephane's face.
"Well that’s just fantastic," muttered Stephane, reaching to grab the bags he had dropped at his feet. Now where was he going to go? He was exhausted, he just arrived-
"Joking, hun," Johnny had opened the door again. "Come in!! And please explain to me why all these people are calling me about you!! It’s been so long since I had anyone over for breakfast. You must be tired. Did you want any tea? Coffee? I just made the best pot of coffee. I’m probably high on it right now. I was dead ten minutes ago. DEAD. But I can make you tea if that’s what you like! Do Swiss people drink tea or coffee? Or like…hot chocolate? I’m making pancakes!"
"Uh…coffee is great, thanks. Well I mean, at the moment I want coffee. As strong as possible, if you please." Stephane thought even then it would not be strong enough, despite Johnny's obvious hyperactiveness. (Unless he was simply like that all the time? Stephane hoped not.) He had really just expected to knock and say hello and walk in, ask for a sofa and sleep for a day or two. Maybe three. Stephane yawned loudly, dropping his bags back onto the floor once inside the American’s apartment.
Johnny Weir glanced back at Stephane and shook his head, grinning. Stephane found it rather disarming.
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